Command Decision
by draggon-flye
Summary: Gibbs puts his life in danger, and Tony just can't let that slide. Warning: Written for Bottom!Gibbs challenge over on Lj. Nothing like what I normally write. Features slash, mild D/S, established relationship, and spanking. Don't like; don't read.


It was late by the time I made it home. I had stayed at the hospital with Col. Ryan for a long time after everyone else had gone home. Then, I'd gone back to the office to file my report. It could've waited until tomorrow, but I wasn't fit or human company, and it was either that or go out and get myself plastered, and I didn't feel like dealing with a hangover in the morning.

He'd left the door unlocked. That didn't surprise me. I never locked the door, and despite his cop training, he was beginning to pick up the habit. Even so, I knew he had long gone to bed. Either that, or he was sprawled on the couch sleeping his way through some old black-and-white movie. He'd learned years ago not to wait up for me on days like this.

I pushed the door closed and turned to hang up my jacket, trying to be quiet. If I woke him, he'd have endless questions, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with that right now.

"Lock the door, Jethro," he said suddenly from out of the dark. I didn't startle. I'd had too many years of sniper training for that, but a shiver ran down my spine at the tone. I turned wordlessly and clicked the lock into place. He was angry. That much was obvious, and to tell the truth, it didn't really surprise me. God knows I'd have been angry myself if I was in his place, but I was only doing what I had to do.

I drew a deep breath that ended in a sigh and turned to him, head down. I was far too tired and drained to try to argue. He stood then and crossed over to me. A moment later, I felt his hand cup the back of my neck, rubbing gently. "Have you eaten?" he asked quietly.

I considered lying, but I knew I'd pay for it later and quickly decided it wasn't worth it. I shook my head. "Wasn't hungry."

He ignored me as if I hadn't spoken, guiding me into the kitchen with his hand on my neck. I didn't resist; I didn't have the energy. He didn't try to force me to sit. He seemed to sense I was far too restless for that. Instead, he left me standing by the counter and crossed the room to rummage through the refrigerator. He came up with a container of the Chinese soup I liked, pouring it into a mug and popping it in the microwave. He must've gotten Chinese for his own dinner. He turned as he waited for the soup to heat, watching me, but still he didn't speak. I scrubbed a hand over my head, massaging my fingers against the bridge of my nose, trying vainly to soothe the headache that had settled just behind my eyes. The microwave beeped, and he pressed the warmed mug into my hands.

"Drink it." His voice was low, quiet, but I recognized the command for what it was. My Marine training was far too close to the surface for me to dare disobey. Orders were orders, and whatever else I may be I was first and always a soldier, a Marine.

He settled back against the counter. "How's Col. Ryan?" he asked.

"About the same." My voice was rough even to my own ears, and the fatigue was palpable. "The docs say it'll be a couple days before the meds really begin to take effect."

He nodded. We were both familiar enough with the medical field to have known that would the case. "I hope they help," he said quietly.

"Me too." I heard the desperation even as I said it. I couldn't begin to explain it. No one understands what war is like, the bonds that form when you walk through hell together. A civilian, no matter how hard they try, can never really understand that. Thank God. I know sometimes it frustrates him, but I wouldn't wish the things I've seen and done on my worst enemy, much less someone who has come to mean as much to me as he does. Only another soldier can really understand that, and the ones who do never speak of it. To call a demon by name is to invite it into your presence, and we never want to see those particular demons again. No, I couldn't begin to explain how much Col. William Ryan mattered, and how much I owed the man.

Thankfully, he didn't ask. Instead, he crossed his arms and turned to me. "Just what the hell do you think you were doing?"

"What I had to," I said simply. There was nothing else to say. "Look, I know you're pissed. Hell, I'd be pissed if you went AWOL like that. I get that; I do."

"No," he said softly, lifting his head to meet my eyes and hold them. "I don't think you do. I don't think you do at all." He raked a hand through his hair, ruffling that ridiculous hairstyle he preferred. "Do you have any idea how scared I was? How hard it was for me to be calm and collected when the FBI showed up with a warrant for your arrest?"

"You knew that wasn't gonna happen. It's not like Fornell would actually arrest me," I said.

"He arrested me," he flared. "You're not infallible, Jethro, and you're damn sure not immortal."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I snapped back, unable to stop myself.

"Those damn trigger happy FBI agents could have killed you," he said. "Dammit, Jethro, do you even realize the danger you put yourself in today?"

"Aw, hell, Tony," I replied, "I'm a Marine and a sniper. Those wet behind the ears Fibbies didn't stand a chance."

"A bullet doesn't care what your service record says," he shot back, practically vibrating with emotion, "and you know it."

"I know that!" I realized suddenly that I was shouting and I didn't care. "I think you forget, I've been dodging bullets since you were a pimply faced kid. I know what I'm doing. I'm your boss, remember?"

"Not here you're not." The words were quiet and laced with steel so hard I took a step back. I realized belatedly that I'd crossed a line. I stood there gaping at him, wanting to apologize and not having a clue how to do it. After a moment, he took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "Go take a shower before I say something I'll regret," he told me. He sounded impossibly tired, as tired as I felt, and I hesitated, trying again to find the words to apologize, to breach the line I knew I'd crossed. "Now!" he barked, clearly thinking my hesitation to be disobedience.

I didn't bother to explain. I just obeyed, turning on my heel and heading up the stairs. As I gathered my things and stepped into the shower, I wondered, not for the first time, what the others would think if they knew about us. We keep it a secret, for obvious reasons. NCIS might be a civilian agency, but in the circles where we move, don't ask, don't tell is still very much alive. I wouldn't give a damn. I'm close enough to retirement that it really wouldn't matter, but Tony's career can't afford the hit that it would probably take. Not officially of course, but we've both been around the block enough to know better. The team knows he lives with me, and truthfully, they're all smart enough to know what's really going on, but they're also polite enough to keep their speculations quiet and not to ask questions. Abby knows, of course. Hell, we couldn't have kept it from her if we tried. I honestly think the girl could hack into the personnel files of Al Qaeda if she took a mind to. And Ducky knows. He's the closest thing that either one of us have to a personal physician besides being the closest thing I have to a brother so he needed to know for multiple reasons.

But if I'm honest, it's not the fact that we're a couple I'm wondering about. It's the roles we both play within the relationship that I think would surprise them. They all assume that I'm in charge. And why wouldn't they? At work, I am. He is my senior agent, but I'm the boss. Without question. But at home, at home, it's different. He's in charge most of the time. Everyone assumes because I'm so dominant at work that I always am, but hell, I'm a soldier, trained to follow orders, and there's a part of me that needs that. I don't often admit it. I didn't even know it myself, until Tony figured it out.

He may not officially be the profiler, but he's damn good at reading people and giving them exactly what they need. That's why he's so good undercover. He can read the situation and pick up on what's needed better than any other agent I've ever seen, and that includes myself. He knew, before I even knew myself, that home was the one place I needed to be able to let go and not be anybody's boss. Of course, he never told me that in so many words. I would've argued into hell and back if he tried. He just eased his way in slowly, and before I knew what was happening, he was in charge. We talked about it since then, of course. This isn't about anybody bullying the other or being unduly controlling. It's just the way we work, and what I need to make home a place I can really be safe and relaxed.

Knowing that though, there's not a doubt in my mind that I screwed up and I'm in big trouble. I never, ever throw my rank around with him. It's disrespectful and truthfully, it's irrelevant. Who we are outside these walls doesn't change who we are in them. There's gonna be hell to pay for that, and I know it. Whatever he does, I won't argue. I know I deserve it. Even as the thought crossed my mind, I realized I was stalling, standing under the water until it's nearly gone cold. I shut it off and stepped out, drying off quickly and pulling on sweats and an old USMC T-shirt before heading downstairs.

He'd made coffee, and he had a cup waiting when I came into the living room. I took it gratefully, nodding my thanks. By most people's standards, it was far too late for coffee, but he knew things like that had very little meaning for me. It would steady me after this day from hell, and he knew it. He was back on the sofa, where he had been waiting for me before. Another night, I might have joined him, but tonight I stayed on my feet. For one, I was too restless to sit still for long, and for another, we both knew I was in trouble.

"You know we have to talk, right?" he asked. I nodded. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle between them, and sighed.

"I was out of line," I said finally, hesitantly.

He nodded. "Yeah, you were. That has no place here, Jethro, and you know it."

"I know," I agreed softly. I busied myself with the coffee and waited for the rest, expecting him to send me to bend over the table or the end of the sofa like he most often had when I'd earned a whipping, which I was pretty sure I had tonight. But the command didn't come. Instead, he flicked his gaze from me to the coffee table in a silent order to sit. I perched on the edge of the table, trying not to show my confusion.

"But to tell you the truth," he went on, "that's not what concerns me the most. Don't get me wrong, we're not done with that by longshot. But what worries me more is the fact that you honestly don't seem to realize the danger you put yourself in. Do you honestly not get it? Do you really not see what could've happened out there?"

"Tony, I'm a..." I began. He held up a hand, cutting me off.

"What if it had been me?" The question was low, urgent, demanding.

"You're not a --"

He cut me off again. "No, I'm not sniper or Marine, but I am a cop, and a federal agent just like you are. What if it had been me?"

I wanted to dismiss it, to brush the notion off as ridiculous, but I couldn't. That demanding tone wouldn't let me. Suddenly, I could see it clearly, imagining in vivid detail just what it would've been like, sitting at a desk knowing he was on the run, the vivid, gut twisting worry. "I had to," I said again. It wasn't enough; it wasn't nearly enough, but it was all I could say. I wasn't sure I could make him understand, but for me, I honestly had no choice.

He sighed. "I know that, Jethro. It's a Marine thing. I know. Hell, everybody in the office knows you practically bleed Marine green. I'm not questioning that you had to help him. I'm questioning how you did it."

I sent him a quizical look. As far as I was concerned, I had done the only thing I could.

"How long did you know he was delusional?" he asked.

"I wasn't sure," I said. He shot me a look, clearly not buying it. Dammit, there were days I regretted teaching him to be an interrogator. I sighed. "Yesterday."

"When he was here?" he questioned. Now I stared at him, dumbfounded. I had no idea he knew the Col. Ryan had come to visit last night. "You needn't look so surprised, Jethro. I'm a cop and a federal agent. If I can't figure out someone's been in my own house than I need to quit. Did you know then?"

I nodded. There was no point in lying. He obviously knew the truth.

"So you knew he was delusional, but you still chose to follow him?"

It was only my military training that hid the wince. Though I had had a perfectly valid reason for following him, on its face, it seemed pretty boneheaded. "Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you." Christ, what the hell were things coming to if I was quoting Fornell? "My gut told me there was something to this conspiracy story even if the Col.'s grip on reality was a little shaky."

"And you couldn't have done that from the office?" Tony asked.

"I suggested that several times, but he refused. Trust me, I would have far rather been in the office than running around on some crazy wild goose chase," I replied.

He raised an eyebrow at me in a look I knew entirely too well. I had taught him that too. "You mean to tell me you couldn't have brought him in if you wanted to? I know the man's a Marine, but he's older and he was wounded. I've seen you put men half your age on their ass. Come on, Jethro. Give me some credit. I know I act like a goofball, but I really thought you knew better than that."

"I do know better than that," I shot back. "Dammit, Tony, don't go there. It was a judgment call. The kind we all make all the time."

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "We make those judgment calls all the time, but your team knows if we screw up we answer to you, and I don't think you would let any of us get away with what you did. Would you?"

I didn't argue. I couldn't. We both knew he was right. If any of my agents had gone AWOL like that, I would've come down on their ass like a ton of bricks. I've said it to them and before that to my Marines. We have a team for a reason.

"Would you?" he pressed again. I didn't answer, just growled at him. "I didn't think so," he said. "You know I can't let this go, right?"

I nodded, bracing my hands on my thighs and starting to stand. I moved toward the kitchen, but he caught my wrist and stopped me, pulling me around to stand at his side instead. I expected him to stand and turn me toward the back of the couch, but he didn't. He just shifted back a little on the couch and spread his legs wider apart. I felt his small tug on my wrist, but I jerked away, realizing with sudden horror just what he planned to do.

I backed away shaking my head. "No. Hell no." He had spanked me before. I had no problem with that. After all, what's the use of having him in charge if he has no way to enforce it, and the concept of paying for my screw ups by way of a sore ass was nothing new to me. I had done it many times in my youth, both at home and at the hands of some of my COs in my early days in the corps. He could have come at me with a belt or switch, and I would've taken it. We both knew I had earned it. But to take me over his knee, like a child -- hell, like I had done my own child -- was more than I could stomach. I didn't explain it. I couldn't. I just stood there shaking my head.

"This is personal, Jethro," Tony said quietly. "This is between us. This is about us, not as agents but as a couple. You know better than to pull rank on me here, and although I have no official say so over your actions at work, you need to remember that while I have no problem being your second-in-command and you know it, I am also and always your partner. I don't show it at work. I can't show it at work. I know that and I'm okay with that, but you need to remember that what you do whether here or at work affects me too, not just as your second-in-command but as someone who cares about you."

I swallowed hard and hung my head. I didn't speak, but somehow I knew he knew I heard it. He was right and I knew it, but did it have to be that. I lifted my head and caught his eye, trying somehow to let him know the things I couldn't say. He held my gaze and stared me down, asserting his dominance in a way as old as time. I shook my head again. He held out a hand to me, beckoning me, demanding.

I could walk the edges of the rules, and if necessary flaunt them outright, but I was too much of a Marine to look him in the eye and disobey a direct order. I swore vehemently under my breath and took a step forward. And then another. And then another. The hand that had beckoned me clamped around my wrist, and the other hooked in the waistband of my sweats and pulled them down. I balked and tried to pull away again, but this time he pulled back, holding me fast. We were lovers. This was far from the first time he had seen me bare, and I was far from modest. I spent my life in close quarters with other men, both in the corps and in the locker rooms at NCIS. Any modesty I might have once had was long gone, but somehow for him to do this here, in this circumstance, shamed me. He knew it; I could see it in his eyes, but he ignored it and tugged me down over his lap. I caught myself on my hands, bracing them on the floor to help me balance. He pushed my shirt up and out of the way and wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me firm. I swallowed hard. I wanted to argue, to protest, but I couldn't find the words. He ghosted a hand over my ass, barely touching, gentle and somehow comforting, and then he brought that same hand down hard. I jerked, startled by both the sound and the sudden sting. He tightened his arm around me and kept going. Soon, each individual stinging swat had built and melted into a steady burn. I squirmed, biting back the sound that wanted to escape, determined to take this stoically. He didn't stop. He blistered every square inch of my ass, and then he did it again. And again. The pain was building and so was the pressure in my chest. The burn wasn't anywhere near what I could take, but coupled with the emotion of being held against him, feeling the warmth of his body at the same time that he held me over his lap like a naughty boy, was damn hard to take. I felt my breathing hitch, and I forced the emotion back down. He seemed to sense it and concentrated his efforts on the undercurve of my ass and the tops of my thighs. I felt the tension leave me, too tired and overwhelmed to fight it anymore. And finally, he stopped.

I tried to rise, but he wouldn't let me. He held me over his knees, rubbing my back and giving me a chance to get myself together. Finally, he guided me back into a kneeling position, and I stood, drawing my pants up as I went with a quiet hiss.

"Don't do that to me again," he said sternly.

"Yes, sir," I said quietly. He grimaced at the title but didn't comment. I knew he didn't like it, but it was too ingrained for me. He had tried for a while to break me of it, saying he didn't like being lumped in with a long line of military COs that I had also called by that title. It'd taken me a long time to convince him that it wasn't a title I used lightly, especially not now when it wasn't required of me, as more than one cocky officer had learned. Using it with him was an acknowledgment of the authority I given him by my own choice, an authority that was his and his alone.

He took my wrist again and pulled me down to sit beside him then laid his head on my shoulder. I sighed, relaxing now, knowing I was forgiven. I glanced toward the TV where a movie was paused on the screen. "What did you watch tonight?" I asked. I doubted it would matter what he told me. I didn't know most of his movies anyway, but it was the quickest way I knew to get him back to normal life.

His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face. "A classic. The Duke." I gave him a small smile. That was one interest we both shared. He was rattling on about the movie by now, and I had missed most of it, but I didn't care. For this one moment, life was back to normal, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
